Guilt Complex
by Tsipor
Summary: The meeting with Tamlen's shade during the search for Andraste's ashes haunts Theron Mahariel.  Alistair attempts to comfort his young friend.


_"Those that survive must go on living. You have suffered enough, thinking that you could have done something. It is time to leave that behind."_

The words haunted Theron, caused him to pace and snarl in a manner that none but Alistair had ever seen the normally good natured elf use. His brusque temper had already sent Leliana scurrying, caused Morrigan to storm off in her own huff, and Zevran to uncharacteristically snap back after two days of it. After nearly coming to blows with Oghren, he had pointedly seperated himself from the others when it came time to camp, allowing only Pryor to accompany him as he prowled the surrounding area for hours, slinking back when most were asleep to collapse in exhaustion, haunted by dark dreams and even darker memories.

This state of affairs had been going on for nearly a week. The elf himself sat near a small spring that ran down from the mountains, his back resting against a willow tree. Pryor's massive head was resting in his lap, the fawn colored mabari snoring loud enough to wake the dead. The young warrior ruffled the dog's ears with a fondness that seemed at odds with his foul mood, frowning darkly.

The crackle of sticks and autumn dried leaves caused one slender ear to perk as he reached for his sword, only to relax after a brief moment.

Alistair couldn't be stealthy to save his life.

Large grey eyes framed by deep blue tattoos regarded the burlier warrior as he stumbled out of the brush, causing Alistair to freeze like a frightened fawn. A mental comparison that almost caused a smile to appear on the smaller elf's features.

"What do you want, Alistair?"

The former templar shrugged, a crooked grin creasing boyish features as he plopped down in the grass beside Theron.

"Just thought I'd give you a bit of company. Save you from becoming a complete hermit."

A dark eyebrow arched.

"Alistair..."

"You know, that look makes your markings get all twisty. It's rather funny looking."

Theron opened his mouth to argue before sighing, shaking his head. He never could stay angry at Alistair, much to his chagrin.

"If I tell you to go away, you're just going to pretend you didn't hear me, aren't you?"

Alistair's smile only widened as he ruffled Pryor's ears, cooing over the dog for a few moments.

"Perhaps. You could try chasing me off. I'll make a show of girly screaming if you like? 'Help, help, the nasty elf is going to kick me with his pointy little feet- OW!"

Theron couldn't help but smirk at the pout Alistair put on, rubbing the side of of his calf, whinging all the while.

"You know, your kicks do hurt."

"I meant it to."

"You're a nasty little friend beater. Can't even say a word without kicks or punches and it's really not nice."

"I'm Dalish. Being nice to shemlen is rather low on our list of priorities if you hadn't noticed."

Alistair snorted, "Oh, I noticed after two days and the sixth fight I had to break up back at Ostagar. You were a brat, you know that? I was sure you were determined to start a brawl with the whole army."

Theron shrugged, frowning as he remembered the hellish uncertainty and fear he had felt back then, surrounded by thousands of shems, far from his clan, the taint burning through his veins, Tamlen haunting his sleep.

Damnit. He thought about him again.

Alistair's own smile drifted away as he watched Theron's brief smirk turn to a pained grimace, the elf suddenly fascinated with the stream again, shoulders hunched. The human ran a gauntleted hand through his short hair briefly before taking in a deep breath and gathering his courage.

"You know, he was right."

Theron froze, suspicious grey eyes peering through a curtain of black hair.

"Who was right?"

Alistair winced but his brown eyes met Theron's steadily, showing a strenght of character he preferred to keep hidden most times.

"Tamlen or that shade of him or whatever. He was right. You couldn't have done anything to save him. You did what you had to, putting him to rest."

Alistair glanced away, "The taint is horrible, constant torture. He was too far gone. You... ended his pain, Theron."

The elf frowned, narrow features pinched, seeming to want to get angry, but Alistair had come to know his fellow Grey Warden well enough to see the potent cocktail of emotions swirling in his tired eyes. The flashes of rage at the hand dealt by fate dampened by the guilt that gnawed at his heart, only to crumple under the weight of soul crushing sorrow. It was several long moments before he spoke, a quiver in his voice that Alistair did his best not to hear.

"I...His parents took me in. After my father died. He was a mage. One day, the templars chased after our clan and..."

Theron shook his head violently. He didn't need to think about that too.

"It was even before I had gone on my first hunt. His parents treated me as their own. Tamlen was as a brother to me. They had done so much for me. They were my family. And I failed them all. I should have not let Tamlen goad me into going into that damned cave. I should have dragged him by his hair back to the camp. I was the elder. I should have...Should..."

Theron's face stiffened, his eyes suspiciously bright as he tried to hold back the suddenly overwhelming tide of emotions.

Alistair grimaced, biting his lip uncertainly, several uncomfortable moments passing before he dared speak again, looking out into the forest, his eyes distant.

"I wept for Duncan, you know. For all of the wardens. A lot of them were my friends... It's alright... To be sad about losing someone. I'm not going to-"

"Shut up."

Alistair's eyes snapped to Theron, the small elf's lips curled into a snarl that did nothing to hide the silent tears that streamed down his face, his head bowed, shoulders shaking, seemingly fascinated by his own clenched fists.

"Just shut up, Alistair."

Pryor stirred, the dog whining as he nudged his head against Theron's thin chest. The elf's shaking increased tenfold, his arms wrapping around the dog's thick neck.

"I...I am Dalish and I am a Warden and somehow I've landed in charge of an entire damned army. I have to be strong. I cannot be seen as weak, Alistair. It would be disasterous. None of us can afford it."

Alistair sighed softly, a rough hand resting on Theron's shoulder and he was once again surprised by how the elf, such a wild, vicious thing in battle, was so small, his shoulder engulfed by the human's hand.

He was too small for this. Too young. Too angry. Too hurt.

But then again, so was Alistair.

He, for what seemed the thousandth time, bitterly lamented Duncan's death. Damn Loghain and his treachery.

Duncan could do this. He could unite Fereldan without batting an eye.

Instead, it was left to two young men without a clue, scampering in the dark.

Alistair shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. By the Maker, if he kept on these gloomy thoughts, Theron wouldn't be the only one crying.

Instead, he smiled bracingly, looking down to the man who had somehow become the closest friend he had ever had, catching Theron in a one armed hug that caused the Dalish to flinch slightly.

"Don't worry, I won't tell if you won't. We can be pathetic together."

Theron shook his head, closing his eyes tightly, seeming to be trying to will away the brief loss of control until finally, after an intense struggle that played across his face, the wall fell entirely.

The first quiet sob caused Alistair to look away again.

If he didn't see it, Theron could still deny it later.

Together, the two wardens sat among the willows as the Dalish wept, mourning the loss of Tamlen and his sad, unnecessary end along with so much more. The seperation from the only people he had ever known, the life he could have led and the almost hopeless, uncertain life he led now. He even mourned Duncan, much as he had hated and resented the man for dragging him into this whole mess. The Grey Warden commander had been the one link from what once was his life to what was his life now. His time with the man, brief as it was, had kept him from becoming totally adrift.

For all of these and so many of the painful stories he had encountered in his wanderings, Theron wept.

And, finally, after what seemed an enternity, the fit passed, the tears dried, Theron's eyes reddened, black hair hanging in lank strings around his face. He glanced up as Alistair patted his back, smiling sadly.

"We Grey Wardens, we stick together. It's not a happy life we lead, but it's necessary, you know? Least we can do is look out for each other. Even if certain Wardens are annoying brats."

Theron snorted, rubbing his face roughly, throwing off the arm Alistair still had across his shoulders, the tension arruptly passing, like fog burned away by the sun.

"Better an annoying brat than a cheese obsessed shem."

"Are you implying that cheese isn't the greatest thing gifted to us by the Maker? You are dead to me."

"Oh, shut u-

"Dead to me!"

And thus, order was restored in their world. The return of the two Wardens to the camp, laughing and jostling each other, was not commented upon by the others beyond a sly remark from Zevran that had Alistair blushing and Theron swearing. The Antivan elf merely cackled, ducking under the rock thrown at him. Wynne shook her head, continuing to discuss the finer points of pasteries with a fascinated Sten as Leliana giggled, throwing out encouragement to Theron when he tried to wrestle Zevran to the ground for a sound thrashing. The young elf was alternating between being afraid to touch Zevran and trying to punch him for the various comments on his "lithe, graceful form" and how flexible it must be. It was all well and good until Sandal and Pryor decided to join in on the play fighting, the racket attracting Shale's attention. At the point the golem tried to join in, the game was rapidly declared over, Wynne having to heal several minor injuries.

All in all, a regular evening in the camp.


End file.
